Love Never Dies Pt. 09

"But . . ."

Gaynor cut me short, wrapping a hand over my mouth.

"No! Be honest with yourself Richard, it's not normal." She withdrew her hand. "I can't go out with you, not really go out with you. I can't go to your golf club, to dinners and dances, can't meet your friends or your kids, go on holiday, exchange Christmas and birthday presents. All the normal things. Don't you see that? Don't you see how it all makes me desperately unhappy?"

I scratched at my right temple. Gaynor's arguments had a powerful basis. But I couldn't let her go, not lose her yet again.

"Richard," she said softly, "you have family and a safe marriage, a wife who loves you, whether you have sex or not. You are committed to her and I think that's right, that's what marriage is about.

"But you can't give me that and there is no way I will come between you two. So . . ." a huge intake of breath lifted her mighty bosom . . . "we must stop meeting. No, make that I must stop seeing you. I need to get healthy again, to get back to my hobbies and my friends. Sorry, Richard, there's only one way to do this."

I felt my heart splinter. My head was pounding, my pulse racing and sweat bubbled in my armpits. I couldn't speak. The lumps in my throat almost prevented me from breathing. Is this how Gaynor felt all those years ago when I walked away, leaving her sitting in the corner of a dismal bar?

Gaynor's hand settled on my thigh. "I will always love you, Richard and I'm glad in many ways that we met up again. You're a good man but you must go back and live your life. I know we'll never forget each other but, obviously, soul mates or not, we weren't meant to be together."

I clutched at her hand and squeezed. Was this really the last time we'd meet? Here, on a wet November lunchtime in a car park? I looked into those beautiful chocolate-drop eyes and battled to fight off my tears.

"I can tell you've made up your mind. I guess it's been bubbling along for some time. I was actually afraid this would happen." I took a deep breath. "But, and you know I mean this, if you should ever change your mind . . ."

"Yes, I know where you are and how to get in touch. And, by the way, please make sure your pal Mick phones me if something does happen to you. Okay? I would want to know, Richard. Truly I would."

I nodded. "Sure." I forced a grin. "It's a bit dramatic though, isn't it? Hollywood movie stuff?"

Gaynor reacted with a flash of white teeth. "Perhaps, but I mean it. I would like to know. And Charlie will contact you, if you still want to know, that is."

"Of course. Yes, tell her." My gaze lingered on her troubled, sad face. "Bloody hell, Gaynor, this is horrible, so fucking horrible. Come here, give me a hug."

We squirmed round in our seats and leaned in to each other, arms hugging and a golden hoop made an imprint on our cheeks. Her fragrance filled my nostrils, her body yielding within my arms. We kissed briefly before Gaynor pulled away.

"Okay, go now," she said. "I don't like long goodbyes."

Reluctantly and slowly, I opened the door and started to get out. The drizzle had stopped. "Oh, I'll get your house door key," I said. What the hell made me think about that at such a lamentable time? "It's in my car."

"No, you keep it, Richard. I don't need it. Keep it as a memento of my love along with the keyring. But, please, don't think about using it. Don't be a stalker. And, please, don't phone or send messages, either. I've got to make a clean break. It's the only way for me."

I stood up and then leaned back into the car. "I wont be a stalker or contact you in any way, if that's your wish. I'd like to keep in touch but, if that's not possible, I'll respect your wishes."

"Thank you, Richard. Cold turkey's the only way. Sorry"

I nodded and stored the image of her sad features and slumped posture. "Okay, that's it then. But, as I said, you know where I am." I forced another weak smile and said: "Take care, Petal . . . and, always remember, I love you."

"Love you, too," she said, almost to herself, and looked at me as she turned the key in the ignition. The engine fired and I closed the door. Gaynor drove slowly towards the exit, indicating a left turn. Through her rear window, I watched a raised arm waving a final farewell.

I plodded to my car and dropped into the driver's seat. I let my head slump, my brow resting on my arms which I'd draped along the top of the steering wheel.

Christ, I thought, this car park is where we met up again. And now she's gone. Back in the day, that old dingy bar had been the venue for our beginning and end. Deja bloody vu.

And then I started to sob and heave, uncontrollable tears cascaded down my cold cheeks.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

SOMEHOW, I managed to compose myself and, that evening over dinner, I made a concerted effort to listen attentively to Veronica's ramblings about her luncheon at some society or club of which she's a member. Knitting or book reading or something, I don't know: much as I tried I didn't really take it in, just feigned interest.

My thoughts were all focused on Gaynor and the trauma of our break up. No getting away from it, I was feeling sorry for myself. But I also knew, deep down, that the parting was best for Gaynor. If our situation really was making her ill, then I simply had to step back and release her. True love isn't selfish and so I had to let her go.

But, I couldn't help thinking that the hand I'd been dealt was cruel and perverse. Twice I'd said goodbye to the real love of my life. Bloody hell!

After our meal, Veronica was her usual contented self, watching television, but I couldn't relax, couldn't concentrate.

"I'm going up to my office," I declared and Veronica just smiled and nodded her head.

Morosely, I read through all the messages in my special GR folder. It didn't help, I just became even more entrenched in misery. At one point, the question flickered through my mind: Why don't you leave Veronica and set up with Gaynor?

But I couldn't do that. Not to the woman who'd borne my children, who loved me and had been a great supportive companion and friend for so many years. We'd shared so much and, at this time in our lives, the devastation to her was unthinkable. And, of course, I loved her. Not all-consuming and fiercely passionate like it was with Gaynor. But it was love, a deep caring.

I pondered for a few moments. What is love? Surely our love for people varies: parents, siblings, offspring, friends, all a different shade of love and affection. Isn't that also the case with lovers? Different degrees, different reasons.

I shook my head and clicked the mouse to close the GR file. Gaynor and I were no longer an item - again.

When I entered the bedroom, a nightstand light glowed and Veronica was asleep. I undressed, switched off the light and clambered into bed. And there I lay, on my back, turning to one side and then the other. Restless doesn't begin to describe my tortured state. I just couldn't empty my mind, free it of thoughts.

At 6:45 I gave up the quest for sleep, shrugged into my dressing gown and padded down the stairs to make coffee in the kitchen. I carried a mug into the lounge and leaned back in my armchair, staring at the ceiling. Any solutions up there? I was startled by my phone trilling in my pocket. An incoming call this early!

Hastily I pressed the receive button and said: "Hello."

"If you can't talk," said Charlie in a hushed tone, "just say I must have the wrong number and call me back as soon as you can."

I rose from my chair and said: "No, I'm okay to talk." I closed the lounge door and returned to my seat, asking: "What's the problem?"

"Problem," she echoed, "you know the problem, it's Gaynor. Damn, Richard, the woman's in bits. I knew things weren't right but this is just too crazy for words."

"Crazy? What d'you mean, Charlie? What's happened?"

"Yesterday . . . that's what's happened. Blimey, Richard, I can't believe this is happening all over again. Why did you let her do it?"

I explained quickly what Gaynor had decided, the reasons she'd given and how, as a married man, I was powerless to offer alternatives. "I had to go along with her wishes," I said. "Her mind was made up and, to tell the truth, she didn't seem that upset."

"Not upset," Charlie exploded. "Good God, Richard, I spent hours with her crying on my shoulder last night. She may have put on a brave face with you but, believe me, she's in a lot of pain. Her heart's broken . . . well, what's left of it."

I was momentarily speechless. "Oh dear," I eventually uttered. "I know she's strong-willed but she surpassed herself yesterday. I hadn't a clue she was that upset. In fact, I honestly thought she was relieved to call it a day so that she could move on and stop feeling so wretched. She said something about getting her life back again."

"Sod that! You're her life," spat Charlie. "Look, sorry Richard, I know it's not your fault. But you can't just let her go. C'mon man, be a knight in shining armour and get on your white horse or whatever you need to do."

"It's not that simple," I said. "She made me promise not to . . ."

"Oh no, shit," I heard Charlie mumble, interrupting my explanation.

"Charlie . . . Charlie . . . are you still there?" I took the phone from my ear and looked at the screen. I was still connected and so I replaced it. "Charlie, are you there?"
I waited, listening to muffled sounds. Then came a breathless, "Sorry Richard, you still there?"

"Yes, did you hear what I was saying?"

"Never mind that. I'm sorry but Gaynor's here. I didn't know she'd come in the room. She's mad at me for ringing you."

"Can I talk to her?"

"Hang on."

Again I heard muffled voices. I waited and waited until . . . that husky tone: "Richard, this shouldn't have happened."

"Gaynor, I . . ."

"No, Richard, we said it all yesterday." I could hear a sob in her shaky voice. "Charlotte is out of order, she shouldn't have phoned you. I'm sorry. Please, let it be, let me go, or I'm gonna go mad. I can't take much more of this trauma. Sorry."

"Okay, okay," I said urgently. "Please, take care and don't be mad at Charlie. She was only being a friend . . ."

"Maybe. Anyway, I'm going now. Bye."

And she went.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ENDING a loving relationship, particularly for the second time, is more complicated than disconnecting a phone call. Over the previous 30-plus years, memories of Gaynor had frequently popped into my mind. Something or somewhere - a smell, a sight, a song - triggered recollections. But now, this second time around, I couldn't get through even one single day without thinking about her.

Maybe it was because it was all too fresh, that it had just happened. I tried recollecting whether it was like that in the early days after our first parting. I suppose I hurt back then but I couldn't feel that pain, not like now. I was listless, didn't have the energy or inclination to do anything. I went on to automatic pilot, drifting aimlessly and pointlessly through days and nights. Quite pathetic for a man of 58 years!

Perhaps the torment was greater this time because I knew Gaynor was only a few miles distant, a phone call or text or e-mail away. I knew where she lived, where she sat and slept. But she eluded my fingertips and my eyes and ears. Physically, she had gone but, mentally, she was still very much inside me. Every day.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHRISTMAS is a time for family and ours was only small. Neither Veronica nor I had surviving parents and we were the only offspring. So, our family "invaders" this year, were our twin daughters and their husbands. A gathering of six adults to enjoy the festive cheer.

Veronica was always in her element as a mother-hen and hostess and, by mid-December, everything had been planned down to the last walnut.

We decorated the house with gold, purple, red, green and silver trimmings. The tree was resplendent with baubles and lights and brightly-wrapped parcels surrounded its base. Happy families, indeed.

Our daughters arrived late morning on Christmas Eve and our eldest (by all of two minutes!) surprised Veronica and I with one of our best Yuletide gifts: the news that she was pregnant. Our first grandchild was on the way! That lifted my spirits and confirmed my place in the universe as a family man. Perhaps I'm not typical of the species, I thought, but, hey, I'm still here in the nest.

In the build up to the season of love and goodwill, I had posted a Christmas card to Gaynor. Why not? And, on Christmas morning, I even sneaked into the seclusion of my office and sent a "Happy Christmas" text to her.

I didn't get a response. A card I didn't expect but I hoped, deep down, that she might respond with a text message. I was disappointed. Okay, I'd agreed not to be a stalker - but sending a card and text at Christmas . . . come on, where's the harm?

On December 28, the girls and their husbands departed after lunch for their homes in the north. The date is burned in my memory because I also received a text that afternoon. It was from Gaynor and simply said:

Hi Richard, have sent e-mail x x

My old heart skipped a beat. Gaynor was in touch again. Weeks of silence had been broken and I was suddenly invigorated, bounding up the stairs and fairly racing into my office to boot up the computer.

Fortunately, Veronica was answering a call of nature in the bathroom and I didn't need to explain my sudden burst of energy. When she emerged, she wouldn't be surprised to discover that I was ensconced in my office.

My fingers tapped impatiently on the desk top, willing my home page to appear. When it did I clicked on my inbox and saw I had 37 messages and Gaynor's name was at the top of the menu. Putting on my spectacles, I opened it and read:

Subject: Us

Hi Richard (no, sod it) Dear Richard

You'll probably be wondering why on earth I'm writing this after saying we should end all contact. Well, I must admit that I half-expected you would send a Christmas card. In fact, I would have been upset if you hadn't sent one (yep, I know, silly, contrary cow!).

Anyway, thank you and you'll see I've put an attachment here. It's my attempt at a Christmas card. Late I know, but I wasn't sure what was happening with you. I guessed you'd be with family, either here or with your daughters someplace. Shit, I'm rambling already. Nerves you know.

Right, to the reason for this message (reasons actually). First I want to clarify my need to call a halt to our meetings. I told you I didn't want any more trauma and that, of course, referred to our past. I thought we'd put it behind us but, I'm sorry, I suppose I carry the scars and they're very deep. Not your fault really. It's just how I am.

Let me say I am glad we met again (after all, I started the ball rolling) and the things you said meant a lot to me. It goes without saying that I enjoyed the intimacy but I just felt that, if we carried on, we would cause a storm that we couldn't control.

Truthfully Richard, I am too old to go through major upheavals and the possibility of wrecking your marriage and family life was too much. I decided it was better we stopped before someone got hurt. And that includes me. In fact, mostly me.

Which brings me to my next point. This Cold Turkey business is fucked up. The times I've gone to send you a text or e-mail, well you wouldn't believe me. God knows how, but I resisted. Then I started thinking, where's the harm in a few written messages or the odd phone call?

I'm not going to ask you what you think because I know how much you wanted to maintain some contact. It was my choice to sever all contact and, being honest here, as hard as it's been, it might still be the best option.

I'm not sure that any renewed contact could remain platonic and at a distance. Honestly, Richard, do you? Think about it before you carry on reading.

(I diverted my eyes from the screen and thought for a few seconds. I decided that some contact would be far better than this ball-aching nothingness. But would it stop there? Could I talk on the phone and not want to hold her, look into her eyes, make love to her, feel those petals parting for my tongue, my fingers and thick erection? To smell her fragrance, sit with her, walk by the river and . . . oh, bloody hell. I looked back to the screen and continued reading)

I'm guessing that your answer is that something's better than nothing but, deep down inside, perhaps not even that deep, you know it wouldn't be enough. You see, Richard, I'd thought about all that before I met you for the last time. Hence, Cold Turkey. It's worked, up to a point. But only to a point. I do miss you and instead of getting to feel better over this past month or so, I've got worse. I can't eat, I've been vomiting on a regular basis and I look like a bag of shit. I feel like a bag of shit.

Okay, it got so bad, Charlie went behind my back (she does that, you know!) and arranged a doctor's appointment. She even drove me to it (I don't think I could have driven, I feel so rotten. It was the first time I'd been out of the house for ages).

Oh my, this is taking for ever to tell you, isn't it? Well, the upshot is, the doc reckons I might have gall bladder problems. Next step is the hospital for tests and all that stuff. I have an appointment on January 4 at 10am. Charlie has said she will take me but, here's the crunch bit, I'd prefer it if you would come with me. Charlie's great, we've been best friends for ever and, of course, we're both nurses (once a nurse, always a nurse. No such thing as an ex nurse).

Anyway, I know it's asking a lot and I'll understand if you decline (posh word for telling me to get lost). Oh, so why am I asking you? The reason is quite simple. I feel safe with you, protected and warm. I know you love me and I'll need all the love I can get at the hospital. I am a scaredy cat and yours is the best hand I can hold. Okay?

So, I've made contact. Please don't think it's only because I want your help to the hospital. Charlie is quite capable of taking me and you would never have known, would you? Really, I suppose I'm reaching out to my soul mate one more time.

Either way, please let me know what you decide by this cyber space stuff or the phone.

Love,

Petal (okay, you win, no butterfly wings this time)

xxx

I removed my spectacles, rubbed my eyes (was that a tear trapped in the corner?) and reclined in my chair. I sighed heavily. I replaced my spectacles and reached for the keyboard. No! I looked at my phone laying on the desk next to the computer.

I rose from my chair, walked along the landing to the bathroom and had a pee. After washing and drying my hands, I went downstairs where Veronica was in the lounge watching a film on the television. She glanced at me as I walked into the room but quickly went back to the small-screen entertainment.

"I'm getting myself a coffee. Do you want anything?"

"Uh, uh, no thanks. I've got a glass of wine here," she said and lifted the glass as if to show me she was telling the truth.

I left the lounge, firmly closed the door, made a mug of instant coffee in the kitchen and returned to my office. Door closed, I settled back in the chair, picked up my phone and scrolled to GR on my contacts.

After three beeps, I heard: "Hello, Richard, thanks for calling."

"I thought it would be quicker than e-mail," I said. "How are you?"

"Not good. I'm scared, my stomach's all knotted and I'm living on liquids. Fruit juices and yoghourts and piss-weak tea. Can't even drink coffee, I bring it straight back."

"That sounds terrible. How long have you been like it?"

Gaynor yawned in my ear. "Oh, sorry about that. I'm also bloody tired all the time. I keep falling asleep, just nodding off for ten or fifteen minutes at a time. Then, at night, I can't sleep at all. And my attention span's up the spout. I can barely watch the TV, definitely can't read a book and the only thing left is the radio or CDs for some background noise. . . Oh dear, I've forgotten, what did you ask me?"